


Breakfast for Champions

by iLurked



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, Future Fic, Post Season 1, Season 1 Canon Compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-03
Updated: 2014-07-03
Packaged: 2018-02-07 05:43:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1887120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iLurked/pseuds/iLurked
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I don’t want to be married! I want to stay single and let my hair flow in the wind as I explore the universe, elbow-deep in alien goo.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breakfast for Champions

**Author's Note:**

> For #wssummer week 6  
> Prompt: Dreams

“Are you wearing makeup? For breakfast?”

“Ward!” A surprised Simmons cried out, hand clutching her chest. “You surprised me.”

“You’re awake at seven-thirty.” Ward frowned down at her, incredulous. “In the morning.”

It was suspicious, Ward decided. He usually had the kitchen to himself at that time as everyone would still sleeping off their night binge (except for Agent May who never seemed to sleep).

“You don’t usually roll out of bed until ten; and on those days you do have to get up earlier, you look like—” Too late, Ward’s sense of preservation caught up with his mouth.

“What?” Simmons, hands on her hips, demanded. If looks could kill, she would be autopsying his cold, dead carcass that very evening. “I look like what?”

“Like that.” Ward gulped. “You look exactly like that. You know. Uh, smart.”

“I look smart?” Thankfully, Simmons merely rolled her eyes after that and returned to what she had been doing.

Ward peered over Simmons’ shoulders, not a difficult feat considering their height difference.

“Breakfast!” Ward exclaimed happily because any food that he did not have to prepare himself was good in his book. And in his experience, anything that Simmons cooked tasted like manna from heaven. He reached out to steal a piece of sausage, but he was thwarted by a sharp slap on the back of his hand. “Ouch!” More from shock than from pain, Ward grasped the hand Simmons slapped closer to his chest. He gave her a wounded look.

“We have a visitor.” She stated, her voice filled with censure.

“So?”

“We don’t want him to think that we eat like savages.” She sniffed. She grabbed a dish filled with cheerful eggs and shoved it at him. “Make yourself useful and bring that to the mess hall.”

“Why?”

“Because that’s where we go to have breakfast.”

“Since when?” Ward asked disbelievingly. “I usually just stand here at this very spot and wolf down my food. Less to clean up that way.”

“Savages!” Simmons hissed before giving Ward a nudge to encourage him to walk ahead of her. She followed after him, carrying a tray of sausages.

Upon arriving at the mess hall, Ward’s eyes almost fell out of their sockets when he saw the amount of food laid down at the dining table. “How many battalions are visiting us?”

She opened her mouth to reply but was distracted when said visitor entered the mess hall, accompanied by a gung-ho SHIELD Director.

It was like switching on the lights in a dark, dark room.

“Captain Rogers!” She chirped, offering her hand to him. “Good morning! Did you enjoy the tour of our new secret SHIELD base?”

“Good morning, Dr. Simmons.” Catching her hand in her much bigger one, giving her a smile not unlike the one she was giving him. “It was enjoyable. Director Coulson is a good host.”

The formality and the geniality emanating from the doctor and the captain were killing Ward dead.

“Simmons,” Coulson called out.

“Sir?”

“I’ll leave Captain Rogers in your hands for fifteen minutes. There’s some small fires in admin that I need to put out.” He told her. Then, he turned to the captain. “Very important, you know. People’s lives to save. Aliens to put in order. Bad guys to catch. Okay. Bye.”

Ward barely stopped himself from rolling his eyes at the manner Coulson was smiling at Rogers, even as the director was backing out of the room.

Ward turned back to the remaining people in the mess hall and this time, he was not able to hold back his eye roll.

Captain Rogers still hand Simmons’ hand in his, still grinning at each other like idiots.

Ward cleared his throat. When that didn’t burst the invisible bubble that separated the duo from the rest of the world, Ward cleared his throat again, louder and much more obnoxious.

In unison, Simmons and Captain Rogers turned to him questioningly.

Ward looked pointedly at their clasped hands.

The captain’s eyes widened while Simmons reddened. They released each other and took simultaneous steps back, both laughing apologetically at the other.

“Oh,” Simmons suddenly remembered her manners. “Captain Rogers, I don’t think you met Ward? Ward is our consultant and a former SHIELD specialist. Ward, you know who Captain Rogers is. The two of us met when I was interning for the Captain America project.”

The two men exchanged handshakes during which they took stock of each other. Luckily, they were both above such things as posturing and macho shit (or at least, one of them was).

“Captain, maybe you’d like to join us for breakfast?”

Finally! Ward thought. Time to eat! If the two don’t make him lose his appetite, that is.

“Thank you, doctor.” Captain Rogers all but rubbed his hands in glee at the feast in front of him. “I never say no when someone invites me to a spread such as this.”

Simmons outdid herself. The table groaned with the weight of the food laid down on it. There were mashed potatoes, baked beans, pudding, and thick slices of freshly-baked bread, flanked by jars of jam, tubs of butter, and an array of fresh fruits. In addition, she must have fried everything she laid her hands on inside the fridge: eggs, tomatoes, mushroom, sausages, and bacon.

Simmons grabbed a plate and started loading it. When she placed the filled plate in front of Captain Rogers, Ward saw that she created a smiling face; using the yoke of the two fried eggs for the eyes, a sliced tomato for the nose, a sausage for the mouth, strips of bacon for the hair, and a couple of slices of toasted bread for the ears.

Ward’s brows beetled even as Captain Rogers laughed in delight before digging in.

Shaking his head, Ward pulled out a chair for Simmons, the one across from Captain Rogers’. Ward went to the side board to prepare his coffee. When he returned, the captain and the doctor were both eating while making googly eyes at each other.

Sighing, Ward placed Simmons’ tea before her with a forceful thump which broke her eye contact with the captain. She smiled her thanks at the former agent, which sent an arrow of warmth at the pit of his stomach.

Ward slid to his seat beside the biochemist, smiling smugly at Captain Rogers as if to say, Hah. You’re not the only one who could make her smile.

He began filling his plate, and as usual when he and Simmons had the occasion to eat together, she began fussing at his food choices.

“You cook like an angel, Dr. Simmons.” The captain told her between swallows, sufficiently distracting the biochemist from Ward.

To Ward’s horror, the practical and no-nonsense Simmons giggled, giggled!, and twirled a lock of hair around her fingers.

As if in revenge at Simmons’ distraction with the captain, Ward placed more bacon on his plate than her suggested daily intake.

“Oh, you know,” she bit her lip. “It’s something that I enjoy doing in my free time.”

The captain smiled and continued eating.

“You can’t eat that much bacon,” Simmons told Ward when she finally saw the small mountain of fried processed pork on his plate. She stole a couple of strips, which promptly made their way onto her own plate. “Think of your arteries.”

“Then why cook so much if you’re going to be stingy about it?” Ward grumbled.

“Don’t pout. Here, have some of my fruit slices, instead.”

Ignoring her in favour of the bacon, Ward shovelled in a mouthful. He groaned in ecstasy as the full flavour of perfectly fried bacon burst in his mouth. Simmons was instantly forgiven as long as she would continue to cook for him. The team, he meant. As long as she would continue to cook for the team.

“Your husband is one very lucky man.” The captain smiled at them.

“H-husband?” Simmons looked horrified.

Captain Rogers froze. Then, he looked at her then at Ward who was seated beside her.

“What?” Ward growled, hunching protectively over his meal, as if he was afraid the captain would also steal a piece of his bacon.

“Oh, no.” Simmons waved her objection. “Ward is not my husband. He’s just a friend and co-worker.”

“I apologise,” the captain paused, then shook his head. “You just gave me this impression of longtime partners; two people who are incredibly familiar with each other.”

“Oh, it’s because we get partnered a lot in missions.” Simmons replied. “It’s only logical because I’m Ward’s keeper.”

Captain Rogers blinked in confusion.

“Because I can punish him,” Simmons continued. “If he needs it.”

Ward snorted.

“When he’s bad, there is a device that I can activate that would give him pain, the amount of which is controlled by—”

Ward took pity on her. “What Simmons meant,” he stated. “Is that I’m on probation. Part of my probation is the implantation of a behaviour-modification chip in my head that fires up my pain stimuli if I step out of line. Simmons is in control of the trigger.”

“Hydra?” Captain Rogers guessed the reason for Ward’s probation.

Ward’s face gave away nothing, but he nodded, once and swift.

“I’m sorry.” The captain stated. “For assuming that the two of you are a couple.” Then, to Simmons, “I find it heart to believe that no man had yet came forward to ask for your hand.”

Grant Ward stared in fascination as Simmons choked, coughed violently, then turned an interesting shade of red.

Fortunately for her, Fitz and Trip chose that moment to walk in, lured no doubt by the enticing smell of food. After making the introductions, Trip and Fitz joined them at the table.

Unfortunately not even the double teaming of Captain Rogers and food was sufficient to distract the two newcomers from what they had walked on.

“What has gotten into Simmons?” Trip asked, happily recreating Mount Fuji on his plate with the amount of food he was placing on it.

“It’s nothing,” Simmons replied even when Ward stated at the same time, “Captain Rogers was asking why she’s not yet married.”

Her so-called friends, who had seated themselves on either side of the captain, started laughing obnoxiously.

“But how could I choose only one?” Fitz pitched his voice presumably in an approximation of Simmons’. “There’s so many men and only so much time in a day?”

“I don’t talk like that!” Simmons hissed at Fitz even as she tried to project a cheerful smile at the captain.

“I don’t want to be married,” Trip piped up, in his own dreadful attempt at an English accent. His hands brushed invisible hair over his shoulders. “I want to stay single and let my hair flow in the wind as I explore the universe, elbow-deep in alien goo.”

“Have you been talking to my mum again?” Simmons demanded.

This was what Ward turned his back on Hydra for? These were the men he was told to emulate (you know, instead of his former sociopathic mentor)?

“Or maybe, you know,” Simmons turned back to Captain Rogers, laughing in what she might have thought of a flirtatious manner (but in Ward’s opinion, she sounded like an asthmatic seal). “I just haven’t found the right man.”

“I don’t think there’s man out there good enough for you.” Fitz told her seriously.

Simmons smiled mistily. “Aw, Fitz. That’s so sweet. But don’t talk when your mouth is full.”

“Who is the man of your dreams, Jemma?” Trip asked.

Ward pretended not to notice that both him and Captain Rogers were paying close attention to Simmons’ answer.

“Well, for one thing, he wouldn’t be talking while his mouth was full, that’s for sure.” She handed Trip a napkin. “What?” She frowned at the expectant looks the men were giving her.

“They’re waiting to hear about your dream man, Simmons.” Fitz replied after swallowing a mouthful of generously jammed toast.

“It’s not like I have a ready answer,” she hedged, cheeks pinking adorably. “I don’t really spend my free nights thinking of the man I want to marry.”

Trip coughed, but it sounded suspiciously like, “Liar!”

“I don’t!” She denied hotly.

“Come on, Simmons. Out with it.” Fitz rolled his eyes. “What do you like in a guy? A square jaw? Barrel chest? Muscular legs? A huge—” He paused when he saw Simmons’ horrified look. “Bum?”

“Well, while I don’t put much stock in looks,” she finally said. “I would much prefer it if he has a face that I won’t be embarrassed to bring home to my parents. I don’t think it would be a deal breaker, though.”

“So, tall? Short? Muscular? Lean?” Trip leaded.

“Tall,” she replied. “I have a thing for a man who towers over me.”

“That doesn’t mean much,” Fitz stated. “Most men tower over you. You’re a shorty.”

“More importantly, I want a man who is trustworthy and dependable; who is tough enough to protect those weaker than he is yet gentle enough to cradle a newborn baby in his arms; who believes in the inherent goodness of men but knows how much evil humanity is capable of; a man who wants to make a difference. He would be generous, smart, attentive, assertive, affable. Oh! And funny. He must be funny! Plus blond hair and blue eyes won’t hurt much either.” She sighed and appeared to be deep in thought.

Fitz looked horrified. “You do know you just described Captain Rogers to a tee, don’t you?” He hissed at her.

“What?” Simmons snapped out of her reverie. “No, I didn’t. I described a hypothetical man. Of course, I’m not perfect so I don’t expect my partner to be. I guess I just want someone who loves me and who deserves my love.”

“So you said you don’t think of such things every night, huh?” Trip snorted, sotto voce because he was not an idiot.

“Oh! And of course, I want a good lover!” Simmons smiled. “I don’t want to be bored in bed every night.”

Fitz started choking on his food. “Stop, Simmons. I beg you to stop!”

Simmons was about to say more when someone knocked on the door.

“Captain?”

An attractive man and woman stood just outside.

“Ready to roll?” The man asked with a huge grin.

“Of course.” Captain Rogers replied. “Agents. Ward. Doctor Simmons.”

Ward noted how Simmons’ eyes followed Captain Rogers and wondered at the hollow ache he was feeling at his stomach.

If there was something Ward’s mandatory sessions with a SHIELD-accredited psychiatrist taught him, it was acknowledging his emotions, which was not a sign of weakness.

Thus, he acknowledged that he was feeling jealous of the attention Simmons was giving to the captain.

And if he was jealous, that must mean—

“Simmons?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re not in a hurry to settle down, are you?”

“Of course not.”

“Good.”

That meant Ward still had time to transform himself into Simmons’ dream man. He can’t do anything about the blond hair and the blue eyes, but everything else, he could try and work it out.

He can hardly wait.


End file.
